


Dinner Time

by John_Q_Sample



Category: Hello Neighbor (Video Game)
Genre: Basement, Dinner, F/M, Family Death, Family Issues, mentioned death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 19:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Q_Sample/pseuds/John_Q_Sample
Summary: After having everything turned upside down, Aaron now lives a painfully structured life: breakfast with his father at eight, boredom, lunch with his father at twelve, boredom, dinner with his father at six-thirty, sleep, and repeat.





	Dinner Time

Aaron's eyes dart up as the door opens. Dinner time.

Even with the rigid mealtime schedule (breakfast at eight, lunch at twelve, and dinner at six-thirty), he loses track of time down here easily. The painted signs on the windows show a constant daytime, an irrationally happy world with green-cloud trees and little puffs of smoke coming from the chimneys of the windows. It's not even close to being realistic, and he's not sure how he's expected to forget that he's now a permanent resident of the basement.

House Peterson has fallen upon some _ridiculous_ times. Scary ones, too.

Aaron shuffles back on the mattress, and Mr. Peterson sits down at the end of it.

Chinese takeout and two cans of soda.

It isn't healthy, and Mr. Peterson knows it. It's better than the peanut butter sandwiches and cold pizzas of the hospital days, but he can do even better than that. He'll get back on his feet soon to start cooking for _real_. Be a _real_ father again, even with his children "missing" like everyone thinks they are.

Tentatively, Aaron takes a box and opens it up. He grabs a fork and starts eating. Mr. Peterson follows suit.

"How was your day?" he asks, as if talking about a school day or a play date.

"Fine," Aaron says, "boring."

"Maybe I could bring some things down from your room?"

"My guitar?"

Mr. Peterson nods.

"And maybe like a basketball or something?"

"Oh, I don't want you breaking the windows...How about some books instead? Or maybe your sister's..."

The sentence drops off, and Aaron doesn't bother to think of what might have finished it. Hands shaking, he takes a can of soda and opens it up, then takes a slow drink.

The sugary, caffeinated drink doesn't calm his nerves at all. The carbonation makes his eyes sting.

"So did you do anything today?"

"Besides breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Cleaning, mostly."

Aaron's not sure when he'll get back to work, or if he ever will. That would make it easier for Aaron to get out, which makes him think that he won't. Besides, Mr. Peterson wouldn't miss these uncomfortable mealtimes for the world.

After about a minute of silent eating, Aaron finally broaches the subject that has been on his mind all day.

"Uh, Dad, last night I heard...noises upstairs," Aaron says. "Like, glass breaking and stuff."

Mr. Peterson, now sitting rigid, takes a deep breath. Sinking down, he responds, "One of the kids across the street was playing ball in the road, and kicked the ball through the window. He ran off before I could ask to talk to his parents about it, so I just boarded it up. I'll have it fixed properly later."

Even though he said it so easily, it took Mr. Peterson too long to come up with an answer. Aaron waits, watching his father incredulously for a few seconds. He knows that silence can get people to say more things, things that could catch them in a lie, and Mr. Peterson knows that, too.

They go back to dinner.

Aaron's still sore from last night. He _knows_ his father didn't mean to _hurt_ him, just...get him back in the basement like he's supposed to be. It was a misguided escape attempt.

Really, Aaron just forgot that it was the evening when Mr. Peterson would usually be there, watching TV. He was lucky enough to reach the living room when Mr. Peterson was in the kitchen to get a glass of water, but unlucky enough to be caught with his hand on the doorknob of the front door.

As he goes back over the events of last night, he realizes how shabbily the story even holds up. Aaron was screaming loud enough to alert the whole neighborhood, hoping that _someone_ would come in to save him. He didn't care if he went to jail, like his father said he would, or if Mr. Peterson went to jail for holding kids hostage. A prison that identified itself as one would be much better than these horribly painted windows and pained meals with awkward conversation.

But one thing Aaron remembers, after he was locked safely in the basement and heard the glass shattering, was a cry. Panic, he presumed, someone _Dad_ was scaring to death.

Someone who might have seen or heard the fight from before. If he's lucky.

"Who was it?"

"Hmm?" Mr. Peterson looks up from his dinner. He, too, was in quiet contemplation of the previous night.

"The kid who broke the window," Aaron explains.

"Oh, I'm not sure..."

This part, at least, is true. Mr. Peterson _recognized_ the kid, knowing that Aaron and...Mya must have played with him at some point. But it mostly happened during the hospital days, when Mr. Peterson wasn't there and the kids desperately needed something to occupy themselves, when Mr. Peterson wasn't there to...

Seeing the frown on his son's face, Mr. Peterson adds, "Well, I think it was the kid from across the street."

"Nicky?" Aaron gasps, sitting up.

"Your...friend, right?"

"He probably misses me."

"As do most of the neighborhood, but they'll get over it."

_Get over it_. Aaron grits his teeth and looks down at his food.

"People..." He puts the box down and squashes his shaking hands together in his lap. Then, quietly, he makes his suggestion, "People die in the woods all the time. Maybe we could say that Mya and I..."

"The autopsy would easily show that she had...that she had fallen to her death, and then been buried and dug up again," Mr. Peterson says. "Besides, what happens when they ask you about how you got in the woods in the first place, or how you got back? I'm not risking the chance of you telling everything to the police."

"What if I don't?"

"And what if you do?" Mr. Peterson counters. "The risk is too great. I don't know what I'd do if you went to jail, and..."

_And you'd be alone_. But Aaron doesn't say it. He just puts the box away and grabs his soda.

"I guess you're right," Aaron says. "No one would believe that I got out there anyway."

But he could, and he could run off. If he's luckier this time.

He takes a drink of his soda, then grabs a fortune cookie. The slip of paper tells him that good things will come his way if he knows to seize the opportunities given to him.

"This is all for your protection," Mr. Peterson says.

"I _know_, Dad," Aaron scoffs, just barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes. He's heard the speech before, enough times to last him months. It doesn't help that he doesn't believe one word of it, even if Mr. Peterson thinks he's telling the truth, helping.

"I was thinking we could find a way to leave town, in a few years."

Despite himself, Aaron cries out, "A few _years_?"

Mr. Peterson puts up his hands. "Or sooner! I was overestimating because I don't want to say we'd leave within a few months and disappoint you if we couldn't."

After Diane's death, Mr. Peterson _was_ already considering moving out, so long as it didn't distress the kids too much. Parenting books always say that moves are hard on kids. But Mya's death solidified his choice. Really, it's that neighbor kid (has he forgotten the name _already_?) who will determine how soon they move out. How sloppily, too. Mr. Peterson wants the time to make proper plans, but if that kid gets one step closer to figuring out the truth, Mr. Peterson and his son will hightail it out of there as quick as they can.

Aaron relaxes, slightly, forcibly, and murmurs, "Okay."

Mr. Peterson begins to clean everything up. That's one benefit of living down here; no chores, no cleaning. A hollow win.

Before getting up to go back upstairs, Mr. Peterson pauses.

"I love you," he says.

Aaron doesn't look up. "Mm-hmm."

Mr. Peterson leans forward to kiss him on the forehead, causing Aaron to groan and start wiping it off immediately.

At that, Mr. Peterson smiles because he can convince himself that this is just a normal family interaction. A normal family, even.

He gets up and heads to the door.

"Your guitar," he says, "and some books."

"Yeah."

"I'll be right back."

The door closes, and Aaron scrambles towards it just in time to hear the lock turn.

**Author's Note:**

> idk much about aaron, like i literally had to google him bc i forgot his name. i've only seen the first hello neighbor game, not any of the prequels/books/wherever y'all are getting your additional peterson family info (though i've picked up stuff thru tumblr). so anyway pls forgive me if this is out of character or anything lol.


End file.
